Back at the surgery, I rushed straight to your room to find the door closed. Pressing my ear against the wood, I deciphered the voice of a female patient, so returned to reception and checked your appointments. Miss Sampras. Miss Sampras was unusually pretty, and I didn’t like the thought of her cavorting around in her bra, breathing in and out for you, dropping her lips open as you asked her to make sex noises while looking down her throat.

She was in there far too long for comfort, and when she finally emerged, I couldn’t even raise a smile towards her. Thankfully, once her notes came through, I saw her ailment was a fungal toe. No one finds fungal toes alluring.

Determined to see you before the arrival of Mr Parker, I rushed to your office, not even bothering to knock.

‘Sorry, Constance – I didn’t hear you knocking. How was it?’ You relaxed back in your seat, your shirt undone a button lower than usual. Had you released it for the benefit of Miss Sampras?

‘It was horrible . . . as expected.’ I sat upon your knee like a little girl. And I felt the upset drain away as you swung the chair side to side.

‘Oh well . . . it was brave of you to go. Well done.’

‘I’ve got some good news, though,’ I said.

‘Oh yes?’

‘I told Dale I’m going back to the wake and staying at Alison’s, so I can sleep over tonight.’

The swinging stopped. ‘Oh right. I can’t tonight, unfortunately. I said I’d meet Paul in the Castle after work.’

It was surprising even to myself how quickly I wished to cry. ‘But I . . . Couldn’t you meet him tomorrow instead?’

‘I don’t think that’s very fair, do you? Jesus, Constance.’

‘Sorry . . . I . . . It was just an opportunity for us to—’ The buzzer made me jump.

‘That’ll be Mr Parker,’ you said. ‘You’d better let him in.’

Mr Parker overstayed his welcome. Your next patient had arrived before he’d finished, and so the overlap continued all afternoon. Ratched One left, with an unfriendly goodbye. And it was five thirty by the time Mr Hammond, your last patient, was done and I could finally bolt the door behind him.

I headed to the ladies’. Mussed my hair, pinched my cheeks. Undid my blouse, washed my bits. Wincing as I wiped myself dry with the scratchy paper towel. I then decided to remove my knickers completely and stuff them into my pocket. It was all I had. It was all she’d ever used.

‘What are you doing?’ you said as I locked your door behind me.

You were still sat, pen poised above a prescription. I walked over to you, slow, unflinching.

‘I’ve got to finish signing these.’

I hitched up my skirt, straddled you.

‘Constance . . . stop it . . . We can’t do anything here.’